The Guardians
by CaptainHooksGirl
Summary: Some people call them imaginary friends. Some people call them angels. Most people don't realize that they are sometimes one and the same.


**Author's Note: Hi guys! Well, it's been forever since I posted a Peter Pan story, so I figured it was time to publish a new one. :) This story was inspired heavily by Taylor Swift's "Ronan" and by a line from the original book in which it is briefly mentioned that there are rumors about Peter taking children to heaven when they die. As always, I OWN NOTHING! Enjoy!**

**The Guardians**

"…_Mrs. Darling…remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies. There were odd stories about him, as that when children died he went part of the way with them, so that they should not be frightened."_

_~J.M. Barrie, _Peter Pan~

Some people call them imaginary friends. Some people call them angels. Most people don't realize that they are sometimes one and the same. True, he supposes, he doesn't fit the stereotypical image—no halo, no wings. He'd traded those in long ago for the rapier in his hand and the pistol hanging at his side. But he is no avenging archangel, no righteous Michael or Gabriel. He is simply a guardian and an actor. And for a few hours each day, he is the pirate Captain Hook.

He'd been partners with Peter for as long as he could remember. Together, they'd worked on many assignments, reliving the same battle with a new Wendy or Sarah or Tasha or Kate. Sometimes Neverland was in the backyard. Sometimes it was in the living room. Sometimes it existed only inside the child's mind. Tinkerbell was the younger sister or the cat or the dog. Mermaid Lagoon was the fishbowl, the swimming pool, the bathtub, the pond. Every time it was different. Sometimes Hook even found himself becoming the primary character, and they would go searching for treasure buried in the sandbox, the garden, the flower pots…and once or twice in the litter box. But no matter what happened, one thing never changed—the children, inevitably, grew up.

Sometimes it happened suddenly—one day, he and Pan would show up for their usual games only to realize that the children could no longer see them. Other times, it was slower—a sort of gradual fading away where the child would call upon them less and less until he eventually forgot they ever existed at all. The parting was always difficult, but it was necessary; if a child was to become an independent adult, he had to learn to let go. And it was at this turning point in life—the point at which a child begins to decide who and what he will become—that the pirate and the boy's true duty would begin.

Peter's job is to safeguard the young at heart, the innocent—the ones who never quite outgrew their favorite fairytales even if they'd stopped believing in them, the ones who still looked to the stars with wonder in their eyes and saw God reflected in their telescopes. His are the storytellers, the dreamers, the lovers, the poets. His are the teachers who inspire, the mothers who play, the fathers who love. He gives inspiration to the artist, whispers words of wisdom to the writer, gives the dancer the happy thought she needs to fly across the stage as if she had a pair of wings. His are the children who find their purpose and run with it, who live and love and laugh to the fullest, who believe in the impossible, who dare to dream. These are the children whose goal is to make the world a better place, and Peter's job is to help them achieve it.

Hook's job is to help the others—the ones who grew up to quickly, the ones who gave up on life, the ones who stopped believing _everything_—in love, in God, in humanity, in themselves. His are the forgotten ones, the lonely ones, the left behind, the lost—the man who spends more time behind a desk than with his wife and kids; the girl who lost her innocence because she had her heart broken one too many times to ever believe in true love again; the old man who is near death and realizes he's never truly lived. They cannot see him anymore, but he hears their cries, their screams, their prayers. And every one of them breaks his heart a little more because he remembers when they were young and innocent and heartless, remembers when the only crocodiles they had to face were in their dreams and the only treasure they'd ever lost was imaginary gold. He remembers the duels they had, the fiery spark in their eyes, the victorious laughter as he'd toppled overboard. He's lost that same staged battle a thousand times, and he'd lose it a thousand more if it meant saving even one child from such a desolate fate. Because every time he fails is another boost of confidence to them, another reminder that they can overcome their fears, that good will win, that happy endings are possible, that dreams can come true. It reminds them that they are braver than they believe, stronger than they seem, smarter than they think [1]…and if it means falling into the jaws of death one more time, he'd gladly do it to spare them their own demons later on in life. Because the truth is that while few, if any, little children love _him_, he loves each and every one of them.

But there are times when the distinction between guardians' duties is blurred, times when the fears a child faces are real—an abusive parent, a broken home, a deadly disease. Some of them grow up too soon. Some never get the chance to grow up at all.

It's a sunny day in August when they receive a new assignment—a little boy with cancer in the ICU. He has an IV in one arm and a stuffed animal in the other. On the TV monitor above the bed, their story plays out once again. The little boy smiles when he sees them, his bright blue eyes shining with delight. It's difficult to do battle in a hospital, but somehow they manage. When the nurses come with a needle, they play along until he silently submits to his "captors" and takes the torture without so much as a scream, saving Peter from the pirates by sacrificing himself in a new spin on the story neither one of them has ever seen. As the child finally falls asleep, Hook takes his leave, throwing a troubled glance over his shoulder when Peter lingers behind.

_Soon_, his partner's dark eyes seem to say. _Soon the child's sleep will be eternal, and we will both be called upon again._

The pirate frowns. _Soon, _he thinks. _Too soon, too fast._

The next day, the boy wants to play again. This time, he is a pirate, and Peter is not needed. He pretends that he is one of Hook's crew, and the sheets become ocean waves, the nurses become sharks. Together, they draw treasure maps on napkins and shoot rubber bands at enemy warships. At the end of the day, he tells Hook a secret.

"I wanna be a doctor when I grow up…so I can help kids like me get better. But don't tell Peter I said so."

Hook smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Because this child will never grow up. He'll never graduate from high school or college. He'll never learn to drive a car, never get his first kiss or look like a fool on his first date. He won't get to see his little brother take his first steps. He won't get the puppy his parents promised him for his next birthday. He won't ever be a husband or father or a doctor. He won't ever be any of those things because the child is a time bomb waiting to go off at any moment. And the ticking is so loud that he can hardly stand it.

On the following day, neither Hook nor Pan is called. The child is too ill to play, too tired to talk. The nurses can do nothing to relieve the pain, so they give him a drug to make him sleep, and the boy dreams of Neverland. In his dreams, there is an epic duel. In reality, they sit quietly by his side. The buzz of the TV in the background and the ticking of the clock on the wall are the only sounds in the room. This boy's crocodile is coming, and there is nothing they can do to stop it.

Another week goes by, and the child is fading fast. He has a fighting spirit, but his body is growing weaker by the day. They don't play much now. Sometimes they just sit and talk. Sometimes they don't say anything at all. When at last the time comes, Peter gently scoops up the little body in his arms. Hook removes his hat, and Peter gives him a sad, tight-lipped smile before flying off to carry the sleeping child home. Hook comforts himself with the knowledge that the child will be happy again soon. But it is Peter's job to take the child to heaven; his job is to remain here with the empty shell of the child and the empty soul of the woman sobbing into the sheets. As a girl, she'd crossed swords with him on more than one occasion, every whack of her cardboard tube another blow to his supposed pride. Back then, it had been simple to make her smile. But she can't see him now, and what she needs more than anything isn't a pirate but a friend. So he sinks to his knees on the floor beside her and wraps her in a tight embrace, whispering the happy thoughts of childhood in her ear as the crystalline tears sliding down his cheek drip onto the hospital bed and mingle with her own.

xxxx

[1] This line was borrowed/adapted from A.A. Milne's and Disney's "Winnie the Pooh."


End file.
